


And I Got Nothing to Lose But Darkness and Shadow

by mytimehaspassed



Category: Sunshine (2007)
Genre: Abuse, F/M, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-10
Updated: 2010-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-22 06:18:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mytimehaspassed/pseuds/mytimehaspassed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he was little he wanted to live in the sky, Mace tells Capa one night over a few beers he’s snuck onto the ship, one night when Mace gives in and slinks silently into Capa’s room with an apologetic smile and a bruise on his cheek from where Capa had hit him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I Got Nothing to Lose But Darkness and Shadow

**AND I GOT NOTHING TO LOSE BUT DARKNESS AND SHADOWS**  
SUNSHINE  
Mace/Capa; Cassie/Capa  
 **WARNINGS** : abuse; spoilers for the end of the movie; character death

  
I.

When he was little he wanted to live in the sky, Mace tells Capa one night over a few beers he’s snuck onto the ship, one night when Mace gives in and slinks silently into Capa’s room with an apologetic smile and a bruise on his cheek from where Capa had hit him. When he was little, Mace says, he used to look up at the sky at dusk and watch the clouds slip away and wish he could climb up there with the stars. This is the dream of every little boy who’s asked for a telescope for Christmas. This was Capa’s dream, too.

Mace would wake up late at night after all his brothers were asleep and he would tiptoe out of the house and into the backyard and just look up in awe. There were so many stars and so many constellations and so many ways he could think of getting up there, so many ways of leaving everything behind. His childhood was shit, Mace tells him, maybe like he might have told Searle before even joining the mission. Mace’s childhood consisted of his overbearing father and his three aggressive older brothers and his weak, small-framed mother who he only remembers as soft and warm and nice before she died in the hospital from some kind of cancer Mace could never pronounce. Mace’s childhood consisted of obedience and protection and the undying loyalty to everything he might hold dear.

Mace isn’t looking for pity, so Capa doesn’t dare say he’s sorry, instead swallowing down the taste of sympathy with the rest of the bottle in his hand.

  
II.

Everyone knows that Capa is the highest priority on the ship. Capa knows the payload inside and out, knows it like the spider web of veins on the back of his hands, knows it like the inside of his mouth or the back of his eyelids. Capa knows the payload and knows how to set it and knows how to detonate it, but only because he’s built it underneath his own sheen of sweat and tears and only because he’s watched the simulation play out a thousand times before even stepping foot on Icarus, before even meeting the rest of the crew. Capa knows, like the rest of them know, that he’s indispensable.

That’s why Mace is such a breath of fresh air. Mace dances around Capa with his straight-backed military manners, brusque and matter-of-fact, looking at everyone through the same veneer of cynicism, and that’s exactly what Capa needs to remind him that he’s only human, that he’s the same as everyone else: an astronaut on this last hope journey into the surface of the sun. That’s exactly what Capa needs to remind him that he might be the highest priority on the ship, but he damn well isn’t the only one giving up his life to complete the mission. He damn well isn’t the only one leaving behind everything he knows, everyone he knows, for a chance to save the Earth.

  
III.

Capa doesn’t like the Earth Room, doesn’t like the way it reminds him of the place back home he’s supposed to miss or the family he’s supposed to still have dreams about coming back to one day. He doesn’t like the way it makes him feel inside, the nervous fluttering in his belly like one of Corazon’s plants, growing and winding and wriggling around somewhere deep inside of him.

Mace loves the Earth Room, but only because it’s nothing he remembers. Only because it’s not the Earth he used to know.

  
IV.

When Mace touches Capa, it feels like fire. His fist hits Capa’s face and Capa feels the blood explode in his mouth, the slick feel of his tongue and teeth from the impact, the sting of his skin and the flush of warmth from somewhere deep inside of him. Mace calls Capa names and Capa feels his belly shudder and grow, his hands reaching out to touch Mace again, his hands reaching out until he can feel the burn of the stretch, until finally he can feel Mace beneath his fingers. Mace dances away and spits on the space next to Capa’s boot, and Capa can feel the blood rolling up and over his lips, rolling down his chin. The skin above Mace’s eye is already starting to swell from where Capa had swung and connected only moments before, but Capa didn’t start it at least. Capa never starts it.

Mace shakes off the anger that’s radiating off of him in waves, and he gives Capa one more look, desperate and wanting, but only to Capa, only for Capa. And Capa doesn’t smile, doesn’t laugh, his breath being pulled from him with each pant. Mace looks away and Capa knows he’s won this time.

But it’s kind of always like this.

  
V.

The first time Mace kisses Capa, after a sucker punch to Capa’s gut, the air leaving him like a ghost, Mace’s mouth tastes like blood. When Capa pulls back to ask what the hell, to ask why, Mace smiles. His teeth are painted red.

  
VI.

Capa doesn’t like Cassie the way she likes him, doesn’t even know how to like her the way she likes him, even with her soft skin and sweet smell and the way she curls up beside him in his bunk late at night, her words slipping out in a slow, quiet whisper. Falling and falling and falling onto the surface of the sun, her dreams and Capa’s dreams and maybe Mace’s, too, even if he never says it out loud.

She says Capa doesn’t have to love her back, but that she needs this love like she needs air or water or something, like she needs this mission. She says its her last bit of sanity, her last bit of reality, before she starts falling like in her dreams.

Capa lets her have it, even if Mace gets dark and quiet and starts to hit him more. She needs it, Capa knows, and Mace would understand if he really wanted to.

  
VII.

Capa is bleeding when Mace says, “I’m sorry.” His face is broken, maybe already starting to swell, but Mace’s hands have never been his own, never been anything but his father’s, his brothers’, never been soft or sweet like his mother’s once had been.

Mace says it again, “I’m sorry.” And he won’t look at Capa and he won’t let go of the breath he’s holding, still and solid in his chest.

And Capa says, “I know.”

  
VIII.

When Mace dies, it’s the bitter cold of the coolant that surrounds him, crawling over his skin like ice until he can’t feel anything anymore, until he’s only numb. When Mace dies, his only thoughts are of the mission, of Capa.

When Capa dies, it’s the unbearable heat of the sun against his face, his hand, as he reaches out to touch the last few strokes of the dying sun. When Capa dies, his only thoughts are of the mission, and of Earth.


End file.
